


Under Pressure

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dominance, Forced Feminization, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Spanking, Submission, informal D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was getting to the point that Harry could smell him coming. From halfway down the hall at least, Harry could smell the familiar scent of shame and saltwater tears. It pricked his nerves, erected the hair on his arms and at the back of his neck and tightened something low and disgusting in his gut like a bolt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_kinkfest**](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/) (where my showcased kink was "crying"). Thanks so very much to [](http://drarryxlover.livejournal.com/profile)[**drarryxlover**](http://drarryxlover.livejournal.com/) for the super speedy and fantastic beta!

  
**Under Pressure**   


It was getting to the point that Harry could smell him coming. From halfway down the hall at least, Harry could smell the familiar scent of shame and saltwater tears. It pricked his nerves, erected the hairs on his arms and at the back of his neck and tightened something low and disgusting in his gut like a bolt.

It made his scar hurt.

No, he was imagining that last. His scar hadn't hurt since the war. It was just headache after headache, pounding in that place that made him press his fingers against the aged white scar and remember the things he wished to forget. It was all psychological—because he didn't want this, he felt guilty. Because he felt guilty, his head hurt. Because his head hurt over his scar, he assumed the worst.

The knock at the door was tired and weak. Harry knew it by heart. It was the knock of a young man who was at his wit's end and failing. It was the knock of someone who wasn't fit to be an Auror and knew it but who wanted it more than anybody else Harry had ever seen enter the program. It was Scorpius Malfoy, a scrap of a man who may have looked like his father in profile, but the similarities stopped there. It seemed Scorpius tried very hard to be everything his father never could.

"It's open, Malfoy," Harry called. The sound of his voice was no longer his own. It belonged to Malfoy since the first time he'd smelled those tears and watched the young man sob on his knees after his first practical lesson. _Weak_ , was Harry's first thought. _Too weak to be an Auror_. He'd cast Malfoy out before he'd even seen him cast a spell. Being an Auror wasn't just about knowing what magic worked for which occasions; it was also about strength, vigilance, and power, all of which Scorpius sorely and obviously lacked.

Scorpius pushed the door open and stood at the threshold, presumably waiting to be invited in. Harry had no patience left for him anymore. They'd been at this every day, every week for a month now—Scorpius failing some lesson or another, Harry swooping in to try and give him the necessary pep talk. It wasn't his job; he shouldn't even give a shite. Malfoy wasn't his kid, wasn't any kind of priority in his life, and only came to Harry because Harry let him.

Well, no more.

Harry did not invite Malfoy in. He continued reading the reports he'd been toiling over for the past hour, every few seconds scratching a few notes with his quill. Out of his periphery, Harry saw Malfoy anxiously dancing from one foot to the other, his posture drooping lower every second, his head already hung with his chin nearly touching his chest. The pale gray Auror training robes made him look sickly, like an invalid, like someone who couldn't wipe his own arse without assistance.

It was almost sickening, just how weak Malfoy was, how he wore his limitations on his sleeve, bare for all to witness and ridicule. Didn't he have any pride? Didn't he care what he looked like? How pathetic he appeared? What Harry thought of him?

Scorpius cleared his throat after seven torturous minutes in silence. It grated right under Harry's skin. It was so annoying that Harry found he was pressing the point of his quill clear through the parchment, having already soiled it soft with ink. That only fueled the fire of his anger, until it was snapping insistently in his chest, heated and nearly boiled over.

" _What_?" Harry demanded, his temper on a short leash tonight. Just looking at Malfoy was making him feel sick.

Scorpius visibly jumped. As he stammered out some banal apologies, Harry caught the first hint of wetness at his cheeks.

Malfoy was crying. _Again_. Every day, every evening, like clockwork, tears on his pale, pointed face, skin damp and smelling of saltwater. That was what Harry could smell down the hall, what he'd started to smell in the darkest of his fantasies when Malfoy was long gone and there was only Harry's hand that could save him. As much as it disgusted Harry, it continued to arouse him. As much as Harry loathed the sight of Malfoy's weaknesses, he couldn't seem to stop poking and prodding them until the inevitable tearful eruption exploded. Just seeing those tears gave Harry all sorts of ideas unbefitting of a man his age, a man with three kids and a messy divorce under his belt, a man whose heroic career was teetering on the edge of a retirement that Harry didn't want.

Harry groaned and shoved his quill back into its holster, ran a hand through his dark, peppered-with-gray hair, and fixed Scorpius with a dull, searching look.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he repeated, sounding the words out slowly, trying to reign his temper back in but it seemed pointless given how Scorpius affected him.

"I-I just—"

"You just what? You come to my office every evening, every time you fail—which, I've noticed, coincides with every time you step into the field for training—and you expect, what? Some sympathy? Another pep talk? For me to tell you things will get easier?"

Harry stood from behind his desk, satisfied to watch Scorpius jump again. This time, his jittery nerves cornered him against the door, the locks of which clicked into place behind him with loud clanks. Harry let the weight of the noises clutter the silence for as long as he dared.

"Let me tell you something, Malfoy," Harry continued, stepping around the side of his desk. The scent and sight of Scorpius' tears was almost overwhelming—Harry could see them clearer now, lines of them rushing down his blush-reddened cheeks and swollen in his red-rimmed eyes. "If you want to be an Auror—really _want_ to, beyond just thinking it'll make you a man—then you are going to have to buck up, lift your chin, and stop coming to the Head Auror's office for an ego massage. I can't be arsed to bother if you can't." Now Harry was standing closer, his jaw set in a firm line and his eyes raking over Malfoy's flustered expression. Scorpius, like his father, was a good head taller than Harry, but the scale of power between them seemed to dwarf Scorpius beneath Harry's stature. "I'm not your teacher, I'm not your father, and I'm not your friend. You do this on your own, or you don't bother doing it at all. Do you understand me?"

Scorpius just stood there, the tears dribbling down his chin now. He wasn't always a quiet crier; Harry wondered if it was just his intimidation that silenced Malfoy now. That first time, when Scorpius had dropped to his knees, he'd wailed like a madman.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Malfoy?" Harry repeated, trying one last time to reach Scorpius. It wasn't like Harry to ignore a cry for help, and he didn't want to now, but the sight of those tears on that face did something to him, made him some kind of monster that only wanted one thing and that knew if he demanded that thing that Scorpius would give it to him freely. It was a power trip, a fire lit inside the deepest recesses of his arousal, a dangerous game to be playing when he held all the cards.

"Yes," Scorpius whimpered, his voice tenuous, like one yelp would break it.

For a time, they stood staring at one another; Scorpius' eyes were dull and listless, Harry's prickled with arousal and disgust. How was it possible to feel both at once? Harry had always been a patient lover, a passionate lover—nothing sadistic or unusual—and now there he stood, cornering a young man nearly thrice his junior like some bully, getting off on watching him cry. Whatever had changed in Harry since the very public and very messy divorce two years ago, the damage was done. Internally, Harry was a mess of a man who didn't know what he wanted, who was usually too intimidated to try out the things that itched his urges and settled for the things that were normal.

Malfoy was changing that, just by standing there, looking helpless and weak.

Harry raised a hand. Scorpius flinched, covering his face. It was all the justification Harry needed; he barked out a laugh that felt cold in his chest at the realisation.

He lowered his hand. "You're afraid. Of everything." Scorpius flinched; it only made Harry angrier at him. "What on earth makes you think you'd be able to handle being an Auror, alongside the most courageous men and women I've ever known? Hm? Give me one good reason that you think you deserve to become an Auror, and I'll reconsider what I'm about to do, which is toss you out on your arse."

This time, Scorpius spoke up. His voice was hollow and desperate. "I'm better than this," he whispered, shaking. "I _am_ better than this, I swear, and I want to prove that I can do it, that I'm not a weak mess."

"You are weak," Harry argued, drawing closer to take Scorpius' chin in his grip. To his surprise, Scorpius shook his fingers free.

"I'm not."

Harry took his face once again, digging his fingers into that pale, pale skin until Scorpius winced under the grip. His long fingers splayed over Harry's, attempting to push him away again.

"You come here," Harry said darkly. "Every evening. You tell me what you did wrong, you tell me how the instructors yelled at you, you tell me how you _failed_ , and then you bawl like a toddler with a scraped knee. What is it you expect me to do, Malfoy? Baby you? Kiss your scrapes and coddle you?" Scorpius shook his head, arguing, but Harry spoke over him. "Shall I take you over my knee and punish you, then, for being a weak mess that can't clean itself up?"

The blotch of red that blossomed on Scorpius' right cheek spread quickly to his left, then down to his chin, along his throat. Harry watched his skin change colours, from perfect and pale to red-stained and spotted. The tears continued, drawing little white lines down through the red and pink, and Harry felt again that tug in his gut that told him, _do it_.

Did Scorpius _want_ this?

"You like that," Harry stated coldly. "The thought of bending over my lap, my hand slapping your bare arse, your tears staining my carpets. You'd like that, wouldn’t you, Malfoy?" Harry squeezed his chin harder, harder, until Scorpius was panting there against the wall and slumped and Harry's body was just barely touching him in every most intimate place.

"Yes," Scorpius breathed. When his eyes met Harry's, they were glassy, pupils blown wide and unseeing. "Yes."

Harry almost couldn't believe his luck, that Malfoy would be so undeniably willing and weak, but it shouldn't have surprised him, and he didn't let it deter the moment. Harry wasted no time doing what he had been itching to do since the first moment he saw Malfoy's slender body crouched to the floor, his mouth quivering, his eyes flooded over with tears—he hauled Scorpius' face closer, down to his level, and began to lick his tears. First the right cheek, then the left, with the hard flat of his wide tongue, taking his time to taste everything, all the shame and the insecurity and the realisation of his weakness. Then, his tongue dipped at the corner of Malfoy's mouth where the tears had trickled and cracked his soft lips dry and then right into his mouth, as Scorpius chose that moment to gasp and invite him in.

Only when Harry was sure that he had found every slick crevice of Malfoy's mouth did he pull back and let go of his sharp jaw. Harry backed up, grabbed his wand, and pointed it somewhere just above Malfoy's right shoulder. With a flick of his wand, the rest of the locks clicked into place and the wards set, the room magicked shut and quiet, save the sound of Scorpius whimpering and panting.

"Turn around and face the wall, remove your robes, and pull down your trousers," Harry said, with his best attempt at keeping his voice even. "Just enough so that I can see your arse—no more."

Harry watched, awe-struck, as Scorpius did as he was told. Scorpius turned, bowed his head to rest his forehead against the wood of the office door, stretched out of his robes, which he peeled off with slow effort. It was just what Harry wanted—to be able to stare at him, to watch Scorpius’muscles working under the crisp fabric of his white shirt, without being watched in return. No sooner had the gray robes pooled at his feet than Scorpius tugged his trousers down, the waist of them cupping his perfect white arse like a cinch.

"Spread your legs," Harry told him. He didn't have to wait long for Scorpius to do as he was told, which made Harry's knees feel a little weak with the rush of control surging through his body. Would Scorpius do _anything_ he asked? "More," Harry said, testing the waters. Scorpius let out a soft whine but spread himself as far as it looked he could go with his trousers trapping him in place as they were. "Good. No, don't look back." Scorpius had tried to crane his head, but Harry wouldn't have that. "You'll stay until I tell you otherwise. You don't move, you don't speak, you don't breathe without my permission. Are we clear, Malfoy?"

"Yes," Scorpius panted. The shake of his shoulders told Harry he was still crying, and that only drove Harry on.

"Yes, what?"

Scorpius was silent almost too long. Maybe he would say no?

But then, "Yes, sir."

"Good boy." Harry stepped forward, tangling his fingers in Scorpius' hair for a rough pet. He massaged his blunt nails against Malfoy's scalp, ensuring his forehead pressed roughly to the door several times. "Now, you're going to count these spankings for me, and if you don't count them or I can't hear you, we'll start over."

"Yes, sir."

"Begin."

Harry lifted his hand with a whoosh and let it come back down just as quickly. The resounding _slap_ of his palm to Malfoy's buttocks was so satisfying that Harry could hardly stop himself from grunting. Scorpius wasn't so controlled, though—the noise he let loose was animal in nature, caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. Harry decided he'd like to hear it again, so after Scorpius counted the first one, he let another fall, and after Scorpius counted that, another and another until Malfoy's sobs were starting to get hoarse and high and pathetic.

On the twentieth spank, Harry raised his hand…and let it hang in the air. Scorpius twitched, his whole body thrusting towards the door as if slapped and stung. Harry bit his lip, his tongue, the inside of his cheek—he was either going to go mad or soil his pants with a premature orgasm, he wasn't yet sure which. Watching Scorpius' every little twitch and writhe was getting him off faster than he would have ever anticipated. It didn't help when he saw the smear of Scorpius' tears against the door, the little puff-marks where he was mouthing at the fine wood.

"Good," Harry murmured, slowly cupping Scorpius' red arse cheek and massaging it gingerly. It was a lovely handful, firm and smooth and taut. "Good. I should reward you for that."

Harry dropped to his knees and continued to massage the sore, abused cheek, while Scorpius winced and whined above him. He had slapped Scorpius very hard, would probably leave bruises behind, but Scorpius did not seem to mind—he hadn't said a word of complaint the entire time. On the contrary, Harry could see his hips thrusting forward every few seconds, rubbing a firm bulge against the wall for friction. Still trapped in his pants and trousers, it looked almost painful.

Slowly, Harry tugged Malfoy's trousers and pants down the thin, wispy-haired columns of his legs. Above him, Scorpius shuddered, lurched, and rutted against the frame of the door, keening like a madman. Harry couldn't get his hands on him fast enough, dragging over his arse, the backs and insides of his thighs, his smooth bollocks, and finally to his prick, which was red and swollen, arched up perfectly and sticky against Malfoy's stomach.

Harry held the weight of his prick in a gentle grip, concentrating on it, letting Scorpius sweat it out, wondering perhaps how long it would be before he was rewarded somehow, and then Harry pulled back and let his cock go. It slapped obscenely against Scorpius' stomach, and Scorpius whined, clawing at the wall for support. Harry did it again, again, again, wanting to see just how red and abused the head of his prick could get.

And then, without warning, Harry urged Scorpius' cheeks apart, prying him wide open with both his thumbs. He dove in tongue-first, jabbing at Scorpius' perfect pink hole, feeling each fold loosen for him. With every thrust in, he gained another scant space of depth for his tongue to fit into. With every jab, he began to salivate for more, and by the time he had got his entire tongue as deep as it could go, Harry's chin, lips, and cheeks were moist from his own drool. A bit of the excess dribbled and slopped down Scorpius' thighs, and Harry's thumbs slipped in the mess he left behind. He could no longer hear the noises Scorpius made, a small consolation to the feel of that pucker opening and closing around his tongue and mouth.

When Harry finally let go of Scorpius' cheeks and the noise of the world came back to him, he could hear Scorpius panting, and when he looked up he was rewarded with the most beautiful sight—Malfoy had drawn his fist up to his mouth and was biting the skin raw at his knuckles, little teeth marks littering his supple skin. His jaw was slack now, but the marks gave him away, and when Scorpius looked down and their eyes met, Scorpius shuddered and thrust against the door again. Harry's gaze wandered to Malfoy's prick, the long white length arched against the frame, hard and leaving trails of come in its thrusted wake.

"C'mere," Harry slurred, standing to his feet and moving quickly. He wanted more. He wanted everything: to break Scorpius, to build him up, to give him what he wanted or deny him everything. With a flick of his wand, Harry's Auror robe peeled from his body and pooled on the floor. He didn't remove a single other article of clothing.

Behind his desk, Harry sat and patted his lap, setting his wand down on his desk. Scorpius didn't say a word, just wriggled one leg fully out of his trousers and bent over Harry's thighs. He let out a wheezed breath as his chest flattened on Harry's lap, and he braced himself like he'd done this a thousand times. Harry wondered, really wondered, how many others there were. Loads of older men, maybe? Dominatrixes? Someone who would take charge, surely, someone who was good at doling out orders and commands. It couldn't be his first, not with how eagerly he'd acquiesced, how quick Malfoy was to drape his limber form over Harry's lap like a doll.

"Your arse is sopping wet," Harry berated, just before his rubbed his finger along the crease to get his point across.

The whine in Scorpius' voice was worse now, lower, fit to break. When he shifted for balance, Harry felt Malfoy's dick rock against his thigh, squeezed between Scorpius' stomach and Harry's clothed legs.

"Do you want to be fingered?" Harry asked. "Like a weak little girl?" This time, Scorpius' incoherent noises irked Harry, who wanted a real response now. He dragged his free hand through Scorpius' hair and yanked, tugging his head back. "Well, Malfoy? I haven't got all day."

"Yes, I want to be fingered, sir," Scorpius said, so fast and breathlessly that the words all slurred together.

But Harry heard them. In response, he grunted and shoved his first finger in to the second joint, then forced it the last inch to his knuckle. Scorpius nearly fell off his lap in his haste to scramble for support, his hands slipping on the floor and up on his tip-toes for balance. He sniffed, and Harry could tell he was still crying, still wet-faced and desperate. So Harry pulled his finger out, slid it back in, and set a push-pull pace fit to drive any man wild. Then, he curled his finger, sought out Malfoy's sweet spot, and pet through his hair when Scorpius' jolted at the first touch.

At this rate, it wouldn't take long at all, but Harry dragged the moment out, casually brushing against Scorpius' prostate now and again between jackhammer thrusts of one finger, then two, then _three_ , marveling at how tight Scorpius was but how much his arse could swallow. Harry had the insane impulse to fist him, to see how deep he could get his hand, but his patience was wearing thin and it showed in the sweat that drizzled down his forehead and nose, collecting at his chin and dripping torturously onto the small of Malfoy's pretty spine.

"Do you want me to fuck you now?" Harry asked abruptly, his voice gruff and low and for Scorpius alone.

"Yes," Malfoy sobbed. Harry could see the puddle of tears pooled beneath where his head hung limply. "Yes, Merlin, yes, sir, please."

"Say it."

"Please, I want you to fuck me now, please." Scorpius gasped and shuddered, writhing against Harry's lap. " _Please_!"

Harry didn't waste a single instant. He hauled Scorpius off his lap and then back on, but in a new position, face-forward towards the desk with his pretty, sore, red arse resting against Harry's prick. Reaching under him, Harry unzipped his fly and flicked the placard of his trousers open, pulling his erection free, and tugged his pants down further so he could get his bollocks out as well.

Reaching out, Harry grabbed his wand from the desk and bit Scorpius' ear as he whispered the spell that would lubricate the places inside where his tongue couldn't reach. He let his wand drop, unconscious of where it might land. All he knew was that he needed to get off, and Scorpius was the perfect tool for that, the perfect weak little doll to be played with. The whine that tore from Malfoy's throat as Harry lowered his pretty arse down onto his prick set the hairs at the back of Harry's neck alive as if charged with electricity. He couldn't help himself and despite his determination to be as gentle as possible, he thrust in to the hilt, mouthing at Scorpius' throat and leaving tender love bites in his wake.

Harry established a brutal rhythm, bouncing Scorpius in his lap, holding Malfoys' hips and bucking up to meet him. It wasn't long before Scorpius tried to reach for himself, to relieve some of the pressure in his prick, but Harry slapped his hand away. Malfoy keened and sobbed and arched back, slumping against Harry's chest. Tears drizzled down his skin and onto Harry's. Harry licked and swallowed what he could reach, and it only drove him on until he couldn't stand it any longer.

With a jerk of his entire body, he had Scorpius up on his feet and bent over the desk.

"Take it," Harry growled. "Take it, Christ, yeah."

Malfoy's tears spilled out over important reports, his sweat and slobber staining the parchments, and it only succeeded in driving Harry over the last inch of the ledge he'd been teetering on for Merlin knew how long. One last thrust and it was over; Harry spilled himself in Scorpius' arse and bowed over his supple body to bite along his shoulder blade as he finished up. It seemed to last forever, Harry pushing out every last drop of come and Scorpius' slender form heaving with hiccupped sobs.

When Harry was finally able to move again, he pulled out of Scorpius and collapsed back into his chair, feeling heady and sated and in need of a long nap in his comfortable bed. In front of him, Scorpius was very still, his body bent over the desk, his legs spread, his arsehole clenching and squeezing out little dribbles of come. Mesmerised, Harry couldn't resist reaching out, sliding his finger inside.

It was warm. Soft. Supple. Wet. He could feel his own come, thick inside, sticky. He pressed another finger in, stretched him wide with a third. Scorpius undulated, and when he shifted, Harry could see his pretty prick drizzled with precome, rock hard and swollen red.

"Slag," he whispered, voice dangerously low and delirious. Scorpius arched as if Harry had just stroked his spine. "Weak little boy, aren't you? I shouldn't let you come. You don't deserve it, do you?"

Scorpius quaked. "Oh, please, Mr. Potter," he gasped, hands clenched at the desk. "I…I don't know. I need it, sir, please, I need to come."

Harry laughed coolly. He wanted to let Scorpius come, wanted to see him shoot off against the back of his desk, but what he wanted more was the control. He could sense Scorpius wanted that too, somewhere beneath his pleas and his arousal. Wasn't that what he came for, after all? Someone to take charge of him?

"No," Harry said. "Get dressed. Get out of my sight."

Scorpius stiffened, going still as Harry pulled his fingers free. He craned his pretty neck, looked at Harry in shock, his light eyes wide and confused. "Sir?"

"Get out of my sight," Harry snarled. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Scorpius scrambled off the desk and stumbled to get his trousers and pants back up. Watching him stuff his erection into his pants, seeing the bowlegged way he tried to walk out, euphoria coursed through Harry in a rush.

When Scorpius had made it to the door, Harry called out to him. "Oh, Malfoy?"

Scorpius turned, tear-streaked face red and as angry as Harry had ever seen it. "Yes?"

"Come back tomorrow."

With what seemed great hesitation and some uncertainty, Scorpius breathed, "Yes, sir," and disappeared into the hallway.

Harry imagined he would head straight for the nearest loo to finish himself. Tomorrow, he wouldn't get the chance.


End file.
